


Last Dance

by evelynwaaaaah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, POV Solas, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-01 22:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4036573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evelynwaaaaah/pseuds/evelynwaaaaah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a final showdown with Corypheus looming closer with each new day, Ellana Lavellan seeks comfort with the only person who can give it to her: the man who walked away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karini/gifts).



The soft rapping at the door to his quarters was his only warning that he would soon find himself in agony. Perhaps if he had not been so absorbed in the bigoted Tevinter tome laid out in front of him, in his silent, exhaustive search for his next step once he had his orb unlocked and safe in his hands, he might have felt her presence in the hallway, that particular rippling of the Veil that belonged to her and only her, an imprint in the world around her that refused always to be ignored, strengthened by the anchor of his magic in her hand as though he were always kissing her palm. Perhaps he could have better prepared himself then for what was to come. But she had stopped seeking him out since he had turned from her that night, since all her questions after were met with ambiguity and calculated distance. Little pieces of his soul had flaked away each time he called her Inquisitor when he meant vhenan, made brittle by the bare-faced hurt she wore now like her vallaslin. She had not sought him out in some time but for advice and counsel, and lately even that she had been avoiding. He told himself it was for the best. He told himself what he did was for her, even if she would never know or understand it. He told himself there was only this one path and he could not stray, no matter how tempting the hidden oasis of her love. He told himself these things, but they did not protect him from the jolting pain in his chest when she self-consciously touched the places the blood writing had been and blushed her embarrassment. They did not soothe the raw chafing of his soul when their eyes met and she quickly turned away in a failed attempt to hide her broken heart. He made himself witness these things because he had created them and they were his to remember for the long journey ahead. But his excuses did not ease the torment. They rang hollow even as he clung to them.

No, Solas was unprepared for the soft uncertainty of her voice that came so fast in the wake of the light knock of her fist on his door. He knew it was her even before she spoke for who else would ever come to his room so late at night? There was never anyone but her. Still, knowing she knocked and hearing her plaintively murmur his name were two entirely different sensations. Two shades of delicious hurt that painted his spirit as he painted the walls of her rotunda. 

"Solas?"

Bliss. Bliss like a white-hot blade in his heart.

He took his time answering the door as he did in all things. Solas marked his page and closed the book without a sound. He tucked his notes away from view and made a quick scan of the room in case of anything she should not see. But of course there was nothing. He was meticulous. Finally, he smoothed his tunic and stepped to the side of the door, angling himself so that he might open it only enough to see her newly unmarked face without welcoming her in as he had done so many times in the past. She could not be welcome anymore. Not into his room or into his bed, even as he held her possessively in his heart.

Solas breathed out all the air in his lungs before he opened the door because he knew that to see her sweet face would make him gasp otherwise. 

He was right to be so cautious. Even now, in her nightclothes with her robe tied tightly to keep out the chill of ancient stone, with her hair pulled back from her face in a braid meant only for sleeping and her expression etched with anxiety and misgiving, she was radiant. He took in breath through his nose in a long, measured stream to keep it from hitching and betraying the ache within him at just the sight of her. He should have been better at it by this point, but every time he saw her was as surprising and as brutal as if he had walked away the night before. This was no different. She was beautiful and bright and exquisite without effort. And he was a fool. An old, selfish fool. But a fool who must walk this path alone.

"Inquisitor."

Solas memorized the reproach in her vulnerability dutifully. He would remember each and every moment's pain he caused her even as he remembered each and every moment's joy she had given him. For a heartbeat she considered him with her hurt fresh in her eyes, hesitating there before his door as though she regretted coming to him at all. He wanted to fold her into his arms and keep her from leaving. Instead, he lifted his brows.

"Do you have need of me?"

She laughed, a brittle, incredulous thing. She didn't need to speak her thoughts for him to know them; they were easy to read in her face, in the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Of course she had need of him, she said without saying. She always needed him. But he had taken himself from her. He decided to rephrase.

"Is there something I can do for you?"

She paused again, chewing apprehensively on her bottom lip with her brow knit in hard thought over her eyes. Eyes that traveled his face in search of some sign of who he had once been to her, that tried to see past him to the bedroom for some clue as to what he might be doing and why. She was deciding, whatever it was. He tilted his head at her in question and that was a mistake because her expression settled. She became determined. There was never any denying her when she looked like that. She took a step forward. It was a bold move, one that might have made a lesser man step back, but Solas was no lesser man. He stood his ground and found himself studying her from an angle that was best for kissing her, for holding her, not for keeping his distance. Perhaps he should have stepped back after all.

"I looked for you in the rotunda, but you..." she began, and her determination faltered. All at once she looked weary and defeated, weighed down by the mantle of her responsibility. Perhaps she needed counsel. A friend. Kin. He could give her those things if she needed them, couldn't he? There was no danger in that, surely. "Do you mind if...can I come in?" She shook her head then, as if clearing away her question from the air before it could reach him. "I'm sorry, I know I have no--" She swallowed and flushed and frowned down at her bare feet. 

"Inquisitor..." he tried again, unsure whether he was attempting to dissuade her or comfort her. But he got no further than that. She lifted her gaze to his with a desperate intensity and it was only then that he saw the fear in her. She was not simply exhausted by her duty, but afraid with it, worried beyond her ability to cope. There was a time when he would have held her beneath the covers of her Orlesian bed and kissed away her troubles. That time existed now only in memory and the Fade. But he had not seen her so agitated since the destruction of Haven. It was beyond his power to leave her alone as she was. He respected her too much, cared for her too much,  _loved_ her too much to turn a willfully unseeing eye to such distress. Besides, he reasoned, they would need her at her best in the days to come.

"Please don't call me that," she begged, trying to put on a brave smile and succeeding only in looking beautiful and anguished. "Please, just for tonight, can you...can you call me  _anything_ else?"

Solas hesitated only briefly. "Ellana," he acquiesced. He meant for it to sound just as 'Inquisitor' did, distant, aloof, professional, but somehow it came out sounding like a prayer, like a sigh of relief, and suddenly she was in his arms, pressed against him, wrapping her arms around his chest and he had to clench his eyes shut tightly with the effort of not touching her, of not returning the embrace, of not tilting up her chin and pressing his lips to hers, of not losing himself in her as all of his being cried out to do. "Ellana," he tried again, and it was a plea this time. A plea for her to give him space. 

"Sorry," she mumbled into his tunic, pink-cheeked with embarrassment. "Sorry." She carefully extricated herself from his chest and took a tiny step back, not enough to keep him from feeling the heat of her, but enough at least so that they were no longer touching. He opened his eyes to look at the ceiling as he collected himself, as he put the pieces of his heart back in a recognizable shape, and only when he felt confident in his control did he look down at her. "I'm just..." She was staring at her feet again, her expression chastised and timid as though she had done something wrong. As though the fault were not his. 

"Ellana," he attempted once more, a sigh this time, careful to keep his tongue from caressing the word the way it wanted. But with all his focus on not giving himself away just by saying her name, he had given no thought to what precisely it was he wanted to tell her. Would he send her away? She needed comfort, that much was clear. Perhaps he could suggest she speak to one of the others. But she would see it as a punishment for the contact and that squeezed at his insides like wringing out a wet cloth. She already felt she was the reason he walked away. He could not bear to lay this at her feet as well. So what else was there to do? He could walk her to the rotunda, but if she needed to speak privately about her duties, that would not be the place, even with much of Skyhold asleep. "It's all right," he found himself saying, though he made certain not to reach out to touch her chin as his fingers itched to do. "It is...understandable, given the circumstances." She was here, he decided, and she needed _someone_ , and though it might be foolish or dangerous... 

Solas opened his door and stepped aside, beckoning Ellana in with a sweep of his hand. "Come in, please."

He could already tell he was going to regret this.


	2. Chapter 2

He took the chair at his desk and she sat stiffly on the edge of his bed, her hands pinned between her knees as she worried her bottom lip and blushed. Solas was having difficulty not remembering all the other times she had perched at the foot of his mattress, draped in his sheet or in his shirt or blessedly naked. Those were memories for a life without her. They were only hurtful here and now. They would only make this more painful for him. And possibly for her, should he forget himself again. He did not wish to cause her any more pain than he already had.

They lived in their silence for some time, his patient and carefully collected, hers reticent and halting. She wanted to say something, that much was clear, but each time it seemed she might finally speak her mind, she would give a little shake of her head and drop her gaze to her fingers. He longed to stroke her cheek and hold her hand and have his lips tell hers without words that he was there for her. That she was not alone. He wanted nothing more than to cover her body with his and distract her from the cares of this world until they slipped into the Fade and he distracted her there as well. It would be so sweet to taste her once more, to explore her mouth with his tongue, to...

"Maybe I shouldn't be here." He refocused in surprise but didn't show it. He simply lifted his brows as he always did. 

"Yet you are here. If something weighs on you, I will listen." He sounded so... _lifeless_. Inwardly he cringed. Outwardly, he softened. Whatever was amiss with her would not be helped by his apparent apathy. "I will help you if I can."

She gave a laugh at that, one short, voiced exhale that spoke volumes about her inner life. She was conflicted, deeply so, actively and presently so, and she had come to him. Solas pretended he took no pride in that, made himself believe that the warmth in his chest had nothing whatsoever to do with her regard for him, her need for him. Even as he craved it as surely and forcefully as the Commander must crave his forsaken lyrium. "You might wish you hadn't said that in a minute."

Solas' brows lifted again, higher this time, and a knot of anxiety began to work its way into his chest. Had she come here on some mission? It looked still that she meant only to find comfort and company, possibly counsel, but he was often blind where she was concerned. It hadn't occurred to him that she might be somehow playing him. 

Was she playing him? To what end?

But no. Her expression was too earnest; she took too much pleasure in honesty and feeling, and though the Game brought out a shine in her spirit he had seldom seen even in the courts of Arlathan, it was not the quiet, enveloping light of her better nature. She had come because she knew no where else to go and her guilt at interrupting him, her humiliation at seeking out a man who had spurned her were plain in her face. Not, Solas conceded, that there was anything plain about her face.

"Lethallan," he intoned because he dare not speak her name while his thoughts lingered on her beauty, "tell me." He knew that if he looked intently enough for long enough, she would be unable to resist meeting his eyes and he was right. She raised her gaze to his, soft and reluctant but hopeful, and it was that bloomlet of optimism that caught in his lungs like cat's claws in wool. But even the pain of her hope was not so terrible as watching it wither and snap away as burnt leaves. Solas couldn't avoid the concern in his own expression. He ought not to lean forward and touch his long fingers to hers, but he did so anyway. 

"You're going to say no," she admitted with a laugh she didn't feel. She could no longer keep her eyes on his face and her cheeks flared with heat.

"Ellana," he encouraged, his voice low, and his fingers wrapped around hers of their own accord, even as his cool head cursed his drowning heart. "Ask."

She gave a small, almost negligible shake of her head and stared at the door instead of at him. But she asked. "I was...hoping...wondering..." She rolled her lips together, her face a tart red. "Solas..." she breathed, and then finally she was turning to him, leaning toward him, reaching for his face with her free hand. Her cool fingers were on his cheek, moving delicately over his temple, and it tugged the puppet strings of his heart as her touch always did. She was seeking with her eyes, the fear there for him to see. She was afraid and alone and hurting. She needed him to know that much before she asked. The knot of anxiety in his chest tightened. "Would you...make love to me?" Her cheeks were scarlet but her eyes were clear. 

He forgot to breathe. But she didn't stop to breathe. She saw his hesitancy, what little shock he didn't quite manage to slip behind the mask, and before he could gather himself enough to protest, to reasonably explain to her why it could not and would not happen, she pushed on.

"Just one more night," she swore, and suddenly she was begging. "One more night, Solas, please, I--" Tears swelled in her eyes but did not fall. "I have this feeling...this terrible feeling I can't shake. All I'm asking is one more night with you, to just not think, to just... _feel_ something, something else for even a few minutes! And then I won't bother you again. I'll leave you be." Only then did she pause, sucking in a sharp gulp of air to brace herself for his inevitable rejection.

"Ellana..." Solas discouraged in a pained sigh. She was right. He did wish he hadn't offered his help. And yet...

And yet.

His body was already responding, ever the traitor to his mind, and his spirit soared and sparked at just the thought of a stolen moment's ecstasy tangled up with hers. He was so close to having his orb safely back in his hands and soon he would begin the next part of his lonely journey. If they both knew it could be only for tonight, would there be so much harm in indulging? One last taste of her, one last morning to wake beside her with her head on his chest, his fingers woven into her hair. To be so close, to experience such intimacy, it was more than he could ever hope to deserve. He could not give in for himself. It would be for her. It would be to soothe her hurts and keep her safe so that she might slip peacefully into the Fade one last time with Corypheus' shadow looming large on the horizon. Just one more night. What was a night in the life of an immortal? Even in her life, it was an insignificant thing. And yet it would mean everything to her. To him.

They had not said a proper goodbye in the glade. He yearned to give them both that closure. 

But no. He must be stronger than this. For his sake as well as hers. He swallowed and held himself very, very still. "I cannot. Ir abelas," and he clamped down on his tongue before it betrayed him by shaping that familiar and most wanted word. Vhenan.

 _Vhenan_. For she was. And always would be.

"What is it that troubles you, Ellana?" he asked instead, urgently searching out anything he might do for her that didn't include their bodies fitting together perfectly or the way she gasped his name when he slipped some part of himself into her. His breeches were becoming uncomfortably tight and his fingers were still caressing hers. He gave them a firm squeeze rather than keep the touch gentle. A friendship rather than lovers. 

"Solas, I--" Her features contorted and she shook her head more forcefully this time, tossing her loose hair on her shoulders. " _I'm_ sorry, I'm not..." She looked at the ceiling instead of at him, struggling openly with something too heavy to keep inside. Her resolve stiffened and wobbled in turns.

"Tell me, Ellana," Solas requested again, shifting out of his chair to stoop awkwardly by the bed. He knelt instead, one knee down, and tried not to think about the shemlen courting rituals the position evoked. He clasped both his hands around hers and sought her gaze with patient insistence. He was not entirely surprised to find that her tears had begun to fall by the time she acquiesced to his attention, moving slowly in uneven lines down the soft skin of her cheeks. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

There was such dark humor in her expression then that it endeared her to him even as it clutched at his heart. She looked so resigned. Whatever weighed on her, she had decided not to fight it.  _That_ scared him most of all.

 _Oh, vhenan_...

"I've been having these dreams," Ellana admitted finally, practically inaudible and thick with feeling. "Solas," and the tears fell in fresh torrents now. "I don't think I'm going to survive this fight." Everything inside of him seized. She seemed so certain. As if the future were already written.

"Nothing is inevitable, Ellana," Solas assured her, disconcerted by how rough his voice sounded, how passionate. 

"Everything dies, Solas," she whispered in return. His mask cracked in spiderwebbed lines. She smiled and it was the bravest, sweetest, most brutal and beautiful thing he had yet seen in his long life. "At least you won't have to worry about me distracting you."

Solas wasn't entirely aware of standing, nor of his hands on her ribs, guiding her body back on his bed. He did not come back into himself, into his senses until their breath mingled between their parted lips. But when their mouths finally met, trembling with the ache of their long distance, electricity replaced his blood in his veins.

He came alive. Just for one more night.


	3. Chapter 3

Ellana's attentions were desperate and hurried, urgent with the fear that she might not live or that he might not love her or both. It tore at his spirit with the same vigor she used to rid herself of her robe, and though he was not unwilling to make love in such a harried fashion, it would not do. Not for this. If this were to be the last time, Solas would make it something truly transcendent for both of them. He would think of this night often in the ages to come, he knew, and he needed for her to dream of it while he was gone, to think of him and his touch and how he moved inside her when he had left her behind and she was heartbroken again. He needed Ellana to remember him with passion, to conjure his memory up when she explored herself with her hands or when some other man inevitably had her, to call to him unwittingly in the Fade so that he could take the Wolf's form and watch her from a distance, become the voyeur in a fantasy in which he longed to participate. So no, blind groping and a furious fuck would not do for tonight. For goodbyes. For this one last time.

"Ellana," he murmured against her lips, and they quirked up at the corners in a way that made him kiss her again. Did he dare speak it? The one thing he longed to use his tongue for even more than to taste the woman beneath him? It swelled in him, the urge, the need, stretched inside him like a bubble that threatened to burst. It touched his lips and he was lost. " _Vhenan_."

Her eyes flared with sudden fire. "Say it again," she commanded in a whisper. Already her fear was gone, replaced by the warm, pulsing light of her spirit that existed only for him in these moments. One day perhaps she would offer it to some other man, but he would not be able to name it, this thing she did to him, this way she looked at him, the way his soul yearned for hers. She would offer it to some other man and he would accept it without knowing, without seeing. But he, Fen'Harel, Solas, he could see so clearly who and what she was. In that moment he had no desire to own her as he often did, as the Wolf often insisted. No desire whatsoever to dominate her. 

In that moment, he wanted only show his infinite respect for her soul. But as they were not formless spirits, as they could not reach into one another's being as they might desire, he would make his overtures with tongue and teeth and deft fingers. He would make her come again and again and in the moments of her climax, she would be pure energy, her body joined with spirit, and he would memorize her, her sounds, her movements, but above all her bright spirit, unguarded and present for mere moments -- precious, wondrous moments -- rippling through the Veil as it throbbed and contracted with her. Arched with her. Oh yes. He would bring her to completion over and over until she was on the brink of madness and then he would make love to her and fall asleep inside her and know the weight of her sated form as they found each other in the Fade.

"Vhenan," he acquiesced, and her grateful smile melted like elfroot balm over the rough and worn places of his heart. "Tel'in ar emma tel'in sulahn'nehn. I have missed you." 

For a moment her features shadowed and his chest seized with anxiety for what she might be about to say. If she begged him to stay, if she tried to reason with him...but the darkness was fleeting and made her eyes shine more brightly when it passed. She had decided not to push. Not to ask. He loved her ferociously for that. "I miss you too," she admitted instead. Her expression ghosted with guilt and he kissed it away, his lips on her cheeks, her temples, all along the ridge and point of her ears. She closed her eyes and smiled beatifically as she allowed his affections and finally his mouth found hers again, soft and searching and bittersweet. His hands moved to the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that widened the neck of her nightgown, and while his tongue sought hers, his fingers made patient progress toward baring the perfect handfuls that were her unbound breasts. When the fabric hung open, he moved a hand inside, running scout fingers over the petal-soft skin of her nipple, strumming the pad of his thumb across the tip and smiling into her lips when it eagerly responded. Her body knew his touch, anticipated it, quivered with just the attention of his eyes or the shadow of his hand on pliant flesh. It was enough to intoxicate him for the rest of his years. It aroused his ego as surely as it aroused the rest of him.

Solas sat back on his heels, surveying the slight disarray of her hair, the fabric of her nightgown falling to the sides of her chest to reveal only glimpses of nipple and breast, tantalizing as other people's secrets, sweet as honeyed wine. He marveled at her beauty, compared her in his memory to the crystal spires of Arlathan, to murals painted by Elvhen genius so intricate that the plaster-and-color birds sang in lilting harmony, to curious dancing wisps that flitted above him in the Fade. He compared her to these things and he found all the rest of the world wanting. The muscle of his heart was sore with weeks of restrained desire, calloused with the brutality of hidden love. Now here she was before him, offering, and he would take of her one last time. And if he did not take of her soon, he knew from the lump in his throat and the stirring in his soul that he would willingly drown himself in her, forsaking all else. The one thing he could not do. So when she lifted her brows in question, scared for a moment that he had changed his mind, he found her mouth again with his, kissing with weeks of longing and need as he pulled her shift up past her cooperative arms. They broke apart so she could shed it completely and then her hands were on his tunic, divesting him with practiced ease before he had the opportunity to study her form with the focus it deserved. When he was shirtless, he pressed his palm to her breastbone and guided her onto her back on his bed, offering gentle but insistent weight to keep her down.

Ellana watched him with a vulnerability that he found unnerving, if only because he yearned to protect it for all time, if only because it reminded him of how desperately the man in him yearned to be so vulnerable with her in return. But he could not. Would not. He--

The backs of her fingers moved across the skin of his cheek and down his jaw to brush an adoring touch over the cleft of his chin. Solas lifted his blue-grey eyes under his trouble-drawn brow to the subtle beauties of her unmarked face. There were tears on her cheeks, slow as sunset and just as stunning. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and the muscle of his heart cramped painfully. "Ir abelas. I don't want you to feel like you have to-- just because I'm--"

He hadn't realized he had gone so still for so long, leaned over her with his weight on one arm while the other touched lightly at her hip. She must have thought he was hesitating, that despite his visible desire for her pressing against the seam of his pants, his heart was not in it. Or perhaps she worried only for his peace of mind. She  _would_ worry about him, about his needs when she was so certain of her death, when she was already naked beneath him, the scent of her readiness in the air like the first hint of a coming storm. 

Fenedhis, but he loved her.

He shushed her with a kiss, and while their tongues danced, he put the flat of his palm on her lower belly and slipped one long finger into the wet and waiting heat between her legs. Her heartbeat met him there, as if that part of her at least, the animal part of her, was not yet resigned to her fate, not yet willing to give up the fight. 

 _Good_ , he thought with a surge of sudden feeling _, fight, vhenan. Let your body convince you of what your mind cannot._

Then he knew exactly what he had to do.

He would let  _his_ body convince her of what her mind could not. Solas trailed kisses down her neck and shoulders, between her breasts with a few stops along the way, letting his tongue explore the taste of her skin at areas of particular interest. His final kiss was lingering and carefully rough, slipped between her lower lips to tease at her clitoris until her thighs trembled. "Solas..."

His erection twitched in answer at the sound of her tongue and lips shaping his name. The wrong name. But his all the same. "Patience, vhenan," he murmured, letting his sound vibrate where his attentions had just been. He kissed again, placating this time, and slid off the bed to unlace his breeches, watching her sprawled and naked and wanting while she watched him release himself from his confinement.

If this was to be their last night together, he would make it count, yes, pleasure her senseless, but first he must see to her emotional needs. She craved closeness and assurance. She needed  _him_ , not mindless distraction. Ellana was desperate to not feel alone. He knew that dark place well. He was in it now, looking at her. "Ellana," he said as an exhale, a prayer to her and to whoever might be the puppeteer of time and existence to keep her safe, to see her through this. When he climbed atop of her and parted her legs, he said the prayer again, and when he buried himself inside her and she tightened and gasped, it became, "Vhenan."

But in his heart as he took her, as he moved inside her, with each thrust of his hips, his spirit offered a different prayer. A Chant he sent to the four corners of this world and into the boundless expanses of all the others.  _Live_ , his spirit sang to hers like a lullaby.

 _Live, live, live_.

And each time he coaxed her to completion that night, each time she came for him, he willed her to fight. To never stop fighting.

"Banal nadas," he murmured into her ear as he finally drifted into the Fade. "Banal nadas, vhenan."

 

~~~

 

Solas had designed his room to be dark even with the sun blazing above the mountains, overbright with the thinness of the air, but still there crept in a traveling rectangle of light that moved sluggishly across his closed eyes and drew him from the Fade. He had waited for her for some time there, but his attention had been taken by a young and enchanting Spirit of Faith. Ellana hadn't sought him out and he had sensed no nightmares nearby, so he let himself be led astray by the purity of the spirit's purpose, invigorated in his own forward path. But first, he thought as he came back into his physical form, first there would be Ellana in his arms.

He rolled toward her with a drowsy smile, keen to breathe her in and share lazy morning kisses. He would enjoy her a little more before...

But the bed was empty.

Solas' eyes opened and focused on the spot beside him that was rumpled with the night's exertions but had been so long unoccupied that it was no longer even warm or indented. 

"Ellana?" he asked of the room, sitting up with his brows pulling low over his eyes. 

She was gone.

She had left him.

"Vhenan," he whispered, and felt his heart break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> "Vhenan" - "(my) heart"  
> "Tel'in ar emma tel'in sulahn'nehn" - "Without you I am without (a song of) joy"  
> "Banal nadas" - "Nothing is inevitable"

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish Translations:
> 
> "Vhenan" - "(my) heart"  
> "Tel'in ar emma tel'in sulahn'nehn" - "Without you I am without joy"  
> "Banal nadas" - "Nothing is inevitable"


End file.
